Time Bomb Town - Chapter Seven
The van headed North, up the 5 Freeway. Late afternoon traffic was bad, stop and go for long stretches. Finally the van reached the 14 North interchange. After only a few miles on the 14, traffic lightened up a bit.
Alina followed them carefully on the bike, keeping them in sight. But the driver of the van, a vicious-looking man with a fu-manchu mustache was checking his mirrors and watching obsessively.
He pulled off at the Sand Canyon Exit. Alina pulled off right behind him. The van driver stopped for a moment at the intersection, then got right back on the 14 North. Alina had no choice but to follow him up the on-ramp.
The van slammed on it's brakes and Alina went right by it. She looked over and saw the driver staring straight at her. She gassed the bike and shot away.
“I've been made.”
“No sweat.” Beef's voice came over the Bluetooth. “I've got them. Call Ziggy and meet up with him.”
“Roger that. Alina out.” Alina cut through the traffic and headed for the Soledad exit.
About two thousand feet in the air, a four-seater Cessna flew over the freeway. Beef was at the controls and he had a clear visual on the van. He spoke into his cellphone.
“They're exiting on Pearblossom. Heading into the desert.”
Ziggy responded, “Roger that, Thom.”
Beef Djandjevic banked the plane to follow them.
Ziggy was driving a minivan, just exiting at Pearblossom. He pulled over to the side of the road at a park-and-ride parking lot. Alina was standing there waiting for him. She looked at the minivan and smiled.
“Nice ride, Zig.”
“Don't make fun. We're lucky my mom let me borrow it.”
Beef banked his Cessna in a slow circle over a miserable little desert community called Lake Los Angeles.
“A more wretched hive of scum and villainy...” said Beef to himself. He watched the van pull into the driveway of a house at the end of a cul de sac. Circling again, he saw the two men get out and begin to unload the rolled up carpets containing Wyatt and Dalton.
“Alina,” Beef spoke into his bluetooth. “I've got a lock on their location. I'm heading to Palmdale Regional Airport. Pick me up there in twenty minutes.”
“Roger that, Beef.”
Lake Los Angeles was a desert. There was no lake, at least not anymore. There had been a natural one but it dried up long, long ago. In the fifties, the lake was refilled by the developers trying to con people into buying property. But it had been left to evaporate and finally disappeared in the 80's.
It was a desolate place filled with unintentionally ironic street names like Big Lake Avenue, Lakespring Avenue and, most inappropriately, Longmeadow Avenue.
On 158th Street East, a rundown house sat at the end of the block, the very end of the road. Edging on barren dust and looking out on a small hill to the north, this little one-story house was unassuming. The white panel van sat in the driveway.
Inside the house, Midas was pacing back and forth in the living room. He had tossed his crown onto the kitchen counter, which looked into the living room. It was the only normal thing about this room. It looked like a command module. A computer center dominated the room. Servers were stacked to the ceiling. Huge monitors sat bouncing colorful screensaver balls across multiple monitors. Wires streamed from this terminal up and out, throughout the house. Into the ceiling, the walls, the floor.
It wasn't haphazard in the slightest. Wires were bundled neatly and color-coded. It was a testament to a supremely organized mind. The mind of Midas Jones. He paced back and forth, back and forth, stopping momentarily to look down at the two boys bound at his feet.
Wyatt and Dalton were duct taped at their wrists and ankles. Midas squatted down and stared at them. More than his golden prosthetic nose, his eyes were disturbing. One was a red swirling vortex. The other was a red pentagram. The effect was disconcerting. He grinned at them.
“Thanks for coming, boys. You have no idea how much I appreciate this,” he looked at his watch and came to a decision. “Toss them downstairs”
The two rough-looking men grabbed Dalton and carried him down the hallway to another room. This room was empty except for a carpet. The carpet covered a trap door. The men heaved the door open. Stairs descended into darkness. They picked Dalton up and carried him down.
When it was Wyatt's turn, they dropped him on the floor next to his brother. A single dim bulb lit a homemade basement. The walls were secured by framing and all along them were barrels filled with liquid. Wires came down from upstairs attaching themselves to the barrels.
In the center of the room was a table and a chair. On the table was a monitor. In the chair, beaten and bound, was Carter Vance. He stared in disbelief at his two boys.
“Boys...what the hell are you doing here?”
“We're rescuing you, Dad,” said Dalton.
Wyatt grinned.
Alina followed them carefully on the bike, keeping them in sight. But the driver of the van, a vicious-looking man with a fu-manchu mustache was checking his mirrors and watching obsessively.
He pulled off at the Sand Canyon Exit. Alina pulled off right behind him. The van driver stopped for a moment at the intersection, then got right back on the 14 North. Alina had no choice but to follow him up the on-ramp.
The van slammed on it's brakes and Alina went right by it. She looked over and saw the driver staring straight at her. She gassed the bike and shot away.
“I've been made.”
“No sweat.” Beef's voice came over the Bluetooth. “I've got them. Call Ziggy and meet up with him.”
“Roger that. Alina out.” Alina cut through the traffic and headed for the Soledad exit.
About two thousand feet in the air, a four-seater Cessna flew over the freeway. Beef was at the controls and he had a clear visual on the van. He spoke into his cellphone.
“They're exiting on Pearblossom. Heading into the desert.”
Ziggy responded, “Roger that, Thom.”
Beef Djandjevic banked the plane to follow them.
* * *
Ziggy was driving a minivan, just exiting at Pearblossom. He pulled over to the side of the road at a park-and-ride parking lot. Alina was standing there waiting for him. She looked at the minivan and smiled.
“Nice ride, Zig.”
“Don't make fun. We're lucky my mom let me borrow it.”
* * *
Beef banked his Cessna in a slow circle over a miserable little desert community called Lake Los Angeles.
“A more wretched hive of scum and villainy...” said Beef to himself. He watched the van pull into the driveway of a house at the end of a cul de sac. Circling again, he saw the two men get out and begin to unload the rolled up carpets containing Wyatt and Dalton.
“Alina,” Beef spoke into his bluetooth. “I've got a lock on their location. I'm heading to Palmdale Regional Airport. Pick me up there in twenty minutes.”
“Roger that, Beef.”
* * *
Lake Los Angeles was a desert. There was no lake, at least not anymore. There had been a natural one but it dried up long, long ago. In the fifties, the lake was refilled by the developers trying to con people into buying property. But it had been left to evaporate and finally disappeared in the 80's.
It was a desolate place filled with unintentionally ironic street names like Big Lake Avenue, Lakespring Avenue and, most inappropriately, Longmeadow Avenue.
On 158th Street East, a rundown house sat at the end of the block, the very end of the road. Edging on barren dust and looking out on a small hill to the north, this little one-story house was unassuming. The white panel van sat in the driveway.
Inside the house, Midas was pacing back and forth in the living room. He had tossed his crown onto the kitchen counter, which looked into the living room. It was the only normal thing about this room. It looked like a command module. A computer center dominated the room. Servers were stacked to the ceiling. Huge monitors sat bouncing colorful screensaver balls across multiple monitors. Wires streamed from this terminal up and out, throughout the house. Into the ceiling, the walls, the floor.
It wasn't haphazard in the slightest. Wires were bundled neatly and color-coded. It was a testament to a supremely organized mind. The mind of Midas Jones. He paced back and forth, back and forth, stopping momentarily to look down at the two boys bound at his feet.
Wyatt and Dalton were duct taped at their wrists and ankles. Midas squatted down and stared at them. More than his golden prosthetic nose, his eyes were disturbing. One was a red swirling vortex. The other was a red pentagram. The effect was disconcerting. He grinned at them.
“Thanks for coming, boys. You have no idea how much I appreciate this,” he looked at his watch and came to a decision. “Toss them downstairs”
The two rough-looking men grabbed Dalton and carried him down the hallway to another room. This room was empty except for a carpet. The carpet covered a trap door. The men heaved the door open. Stairs descended into darkness. They picked Dalton up and carried him down.
When it was Wyatt's turn, they dropped him on the floor next to his brother. A single dim bulb lit a homemade basement. The walls were secured by framing and all along them were barrels filled with liquid. Wires came down from upstairs attaching themselves to the barrels.
In the center of the room was a table and a chair. On the table was a monitor. In the chair, beaten and bound, was Carter Vance. He stared in disbelief at his two boys.
“Boys...what the hell are you doing here?”
“We're rescuing you, Dad,” said Dalton.
Wyatt grinned.
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